


The Nexus

by Pax_2735



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-12 11:17:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2107776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pax_2735/pseuds/Pax_2735
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would happen if Agron was never a slave? What would happen if Nasir was never a slave? What would happen if they were both free men?</p><p>Three different realities, three different settings, three different ways their story might have gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meeting you

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: They’re not mine, I’m just playing in someone else’s sandbox. Promise to return them intact once I’m finished. Compliments will be repeated in front of the mirror, flames will be used to light my cigarettes. Please send them all in.
> 
> I borrowed this idea from a story I read years ago on a different fandom. I cannot remember the author but the underlying idea is to play around with a number of different 'what if's'. I started this a while ago and struggled a lot with it. Hopefully posting part one will give me the kick I need to get this finished.
> 
>  
> 
> nex•us  
> noun \ˈnek-səs\: a relationship or connection between people or things; Latin, from nectere - to bind

_Germania, around 73 B.C_

The sound of horses’ hoofs treading heavily on the forest’s soil announced the return of the men long before they could be seen by any of the villagers. And, as the approaching sounds became increasingly louder, it became easy to discern the laughter and the cheers. It had been a good hunt.

Agron slowly walked out of his home, rubbing the flesh just above his heart, still tender from recent wound, and ignored his mother’s stern warning to remain inside, as he walked out to meet his brother. Hunting was not one of Duro’s better skills, and despite the tone of voices announcing good things, he was still concerned. And, as he approached the edge of the village, he knew he had cause to.

The large party of men approaching the village seemed unscathed, yet they also did not look as they had been hunting at all. Instead of deer and wild boar, the men carried with themselves what looked to be spoils of battle.

Duro was amongst them, his eyes scanning the growing crowd, and Agron sighed in relief, realizing he was unharmed. As Duro saw him, he began confidently strolling towards his older brother, a smile splitting his face.

“Brother! Heart lifts at seeing you again. How is your wound?”

Agron held him to his chest, placing a gentle kiss on top of his head, before replying.

“It is good to see you again. And the wound is better – our healer says it will be a short time until I can accompany you once again.” Looking over his brother towards the rest of the party, he added: “Although to what I am not entirely confident. I was under impression you had gone hunting.”

Duro grinned. “We were, but it became a different sort of hunt.”

Agron was not a patient man. Playfully hitting his brother in the back of the head, using just a tad more force than necessary, he pressed on.

“What the fuck happened Duro?”

“We were attacked.”

It was only the knowledge that his brother was safe and standing in front of him that kept Agron from lashing out.

“Fuck the gods Duro! I can see that. What happened?”

“There was no game to be found anywhere, so we kept venturing more and more to the west. And then, without any warning signals, we came across some Gauls.”

Agron narrowed his eyes. “And they attacked you?”

Duro’s grin turned sheepish. “We might have attacked them first.” He yelped as Agron slapped his head again, this time more forcefully.

“What the fuck Duro! The elders have spent all summer striking peace with the Gauls. They will have your balls for this.”

“It was not my doing. I merely helped my countrymen.”

Agron closed his eyes, his hand once again rubbing his still tender wound. Fuck the gods, they had made a fucking problem out of what should have been a simple hunting trip.

“I have a present for you.”

Duro’s voice sounded eager, almost childlike. Agron knew it was much too soon to appease things with his brother, but he found himself helpless to stop the smile that found its way onto his lips.

“Please tell me it is not one of those awful things the fucking Gauls use as armor.”

Sensing his brother’s returning good spirits, Duro smiled again. “I would not bring you back something so ugly. No, this gift is quite beautiful. I believe you will like it.” He stepped slightly to the side before signaling something with his hand.

Agron saw someone move in their direction, before his breath failed him entirely. The boy was beautiful, with golden skin stretching over a small body, long inky black hair and huge brown eyes. He stopped directly in front of them, before bowing his head slightly, keeping his eyes on the ground.

Agron could see that, for all the liberty in his movements, his hands were strongly bound together.

“This is your new slave, Nasir.”

 

_Damascus, around 73 B.C._

The great market of Damascus was, as always, buzzing with excitement. Coming from all sides, one could hear the voices of people from all over the land, selling products one would have difficulty pronouncing their names, let alone knowing what they were and their uses. Camels and donkeys made their presence known amidst the sound of other, more exotic animals. Housewives and slaves alike haggled the cost of such products, with shouts being overheard occasionally, when one of the two parties felt they were being deceived.

The crowd, however, easily parted ways to allow a certain group to move freely across the market. As the son of one of the richest men in Damascus, Nasir’s party was known and respected throughout the city, allowing passage to be made quietly and effectively.

Since the recent attack on his life, however, one that had left him with a gaping wound to his side, struggling to survive, Nasir had lost some of his usual easiness around the chaos that were the lower parts of his home city. It was why he was back here to begin with. And, as he reached his destination, he felt his resolve settle back. He had made the right decision.

The eastern edge of the market housed the sellers of two of the most important labor forces in the land. Standing just outside the walls that delimited the city’s limits stood the animal sellers, the smell alone announcing their presence for miles around. And just on the inside of those walls was the slave market.

Nasir had reached his destination.

His own slaves made haste to find Nasir a place to sit, somewhere in the shade, and near enough the auction block so that he could get a clear view. As one of the wealthiest men in the city, the task was easily completed, and soon Nasir was settled.

The first few batches of slaves were incredibly disappointing. Fickle, feeble men, too thin and afflicted by disease to be worthy of much attention. The heat of the day was mounting, and his own slaves busied themselves making sure their master lacked for nothing.

As a new batch of slaves was brought forth Nasir surveyed them carefully. The speaker announced them as hailing from the ruins of the once mighty Carthage. Nasir could see it – they were taller than any other man present, and impressively built. Their torsos showed a myriad of scars, undoubtingly gained in battle. They were fierce and intimidating. Yes, they would do.

Nasir nodded to one of his slaves and the young man immediately got up and headed towards their owner to secure the deal. A moment later and the impressive men were being led off the auction block, much to the crowd’s discontentment.

Nasir eyed the following batches of slaves disinterestedly. He had what he had come here for and was merely making sure he did not miss something of note.

The speaker announced a new batch, this one hailing from the wild lands of Germania. Nasir eyed them curiously – they were tall and well built, although not nearly as much as his recent purchases.

He eyed one of them more carefully than the rest – the one to the right, with something in his hair that looked like braids, although Nasir was fairly sure that upon closer inspection it would turn out to be something completely different. He had clear eyes, clearer than any Nasir had ever seen before, even from the distance. And as the slave looked around the crowd, looked directly at him, instead of lowering eyes to the ground as he was expected to, Nasir felt something in his stomach churn.

Without allowing much thought to storm his mind, Nasir looked directly to his returning slave, who promptly approached him.

“That one, with the scar on his chest.”

The slave looked back, towards the block, trying to identify the slave being pointed out.

“I want him.”

The slave looked back to his master before respectfully bowing his head.

“Your will, my hands.”

 

 

_Rome, around 73 B.C._

The Coliseum was, as usual, thoroughly packed.

Celebrations commanded by the Senate were in full course, filling the busy streets of Rome to its full capacity. Plays were performed in improvised stages in all corners of the city, their actors eager to gain patronage from an influential citizen. Music coming from strange instruments was played in every street corner, performers desperately seeking coin thrown to them by passersby. Chariot races were performed in the Field of Mars, with champions coming from all over the Empire, eager to flaunt their skills in the heart of the Republic. But the most eagerly attended part of the celebrations was, undoubtingly, the gladiators. Beastly looking men fighting to the death in front of a roaring crowd demanding blood.

Agron and Duro sat in the middle of said roaring crowd, packed tightly inside the arena, trying to keep up some semblance of conversation among the deafening noise.

“That was incredible! Did you see how he cut off his arms?” Duro’s voice reminded Agron of an overly excited child, and couldn’t help but to tease his younger brother by pointing it out. Duro wasn’t deterred though, as he decided to pout next. “I wish we could have gotten better seats. We could be closer to them.”

“Father isn’t overly happy with us being here to begin with. Do you care to explain to him that you spent more of his precious gold on better seats at the arena?” Agron’s stern look was lost as Duro’s attention had already been diverted to the fat roman speaker standing at the pulvinar, announcing the next match.

“A Thracian! They say those people are more like beasts than men. This one should be good, don’t you think? Agron?”

Duro turned towards his older brother, annoyed at being ignored, only to find him intently staring off into nothing. He looked around the crowd, squinting his eyes against the harsh light. No, that actually was not accurate. He was staring at something. Or rather someone.

A grin spread across Duro’s features as he saw him. The young man – Duro wanted to call him a boy but in reality he couldn’t be much younger than himself, and Duro hated it when he was addressed as such – the man was truly remarkable, there was no complaining about his brother’s taste. A mane of raven black hair fell down his shoulders and back, carefully braided to show off his neck and compliment all that golden skin. They were too far away to tell but he could swear the man’s eyes were as black as his hair, seemingly pulling him in.

“These seats have a nice view though, do they not?” His voice dripped with amusement at seeing his older brother so entranced.

“Who is that?”

Duro couldn’t help but narrow his eyes. “How the fuck should I know?” An idea struck him then and he allowed the smirk that formed to be on full display as he turned towards Agron. “Want me to discover?”

He started to stand when a strong hand clamped his shoulder, forcing him back down. “Sit the fuck down! Are you out of your fucking mind? Oh shit, he’s looking at us.”

“Is that not a desirable thing?” Never one to pass up an opportunity to aggravate his older brother, Duro couldn’t help but to raise his hand and wave at the man. He seemed surprised, as expected, but after a moment raised his hand and gave a small wave back.

Agron forcefully turned his back to the man to glare fully at his younger brother. Duro was certain he would have been hit across the head had the man’s eyes not have still been looking in their direction.

“Do you want me to hurt you?” Agron’s voice was serious, having made many a man shiver at that tone before. Duro, however, was not one of them.

“Don’t be an idiot brother. He’s looking at us – at you. And he waved at us.”

“Only because you did so first. He’s obviously too polite to ignore a dumb fuck like you.”

Duro waved a hand dismissively, before standing back up. This time, Agron wasn’t fast enough to stop him. “Come, we should properly introduce ourselves.”

“Fuck the gods Duro, sit down!” Agron hissed at his brother, but Duro was already moving, pushing past the seemingly endless crowd, towards the incredibly tantalizing man that was still looking at them. Agron had no other option but to follow.

Across the stands, Dagan let out a bellowing laugh as his brother’s eyes seemed to bulge out as he watched the two men heading their way. Nasir had been stealing glances towards them ever since first casting eyes upon the taller of the two, as they were making their way inside the arena. Now though, he had on a striking resemblance to one of their father’s wild horses first being brought into the stables as he watched them coming their way.

“What troubles mind little one? I thought you would be pleased at this turn of events.”

Nasir visibly gulped before hissing towards his brother. “They’re headed this way. Towards us.”

Dagan laughed again at the distressed look upon his brother’s face. It was easy to forget sometimes how young Nasir truly was, being the more calm and considerate of the two. Now, however, he showed his age, as he fidgeted in his seat, obviously looking for some sort of escape route. “Chin up, brother. It’s too late for that. They’re here.”

Nasir looked up, eyes straying past the darker of the two men, finally resting on a pair of clear eyes that were staring right back. At him.

 


	2. Knowing you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this turned out longer than I had expected it to be, I've decided to split chapter 2 in three parts. 
> 
> Also, this probably could use some more editing but I wanted to post it before I leave for my vacation in a couple of hours (thank the gods!). As usual, all mistakes are mine and mine alone.

_Germania, around 73 B.C_

The sun was slowly rising above the mountains, casting a shimmering pink light over the village. From his vantage point on top of a small hill, Agron could see the village slowly waking up, women making their way to the well, others starting small fires to begin the cooking for the day, as small children ran around pretending to feed the animals. The men were slower to make an appearance, most of them rising only after the smell of freshly cooked food wafted to their nostrils.

Agron raised his arms above his head and stretched his tired limbs. Soon, someone would come to take his turn on the watching post and he’d be able to climb back down and get some food in his belly, before settling down for some rest. Ever since the hunting party had returned, the elders had deemed adequate to reinforce the watch posts all around the village, to ensure no attack on them would go unnoticed.

Waiting for his release, Agron allowed his eyes to wander across the village, squinting as he tried to identify some of the people mulling about. He felt his heart suddenly begin to race as he recognized a familiar dark head.

He sighed heavily as his eyes followed the steady movements of the smaller man. He was too far away to see him clearly but his mind had little trouble conjuring up all the small details he couldn’t clearly make out.

It was not uncommon for them to have slaves in the village, constant warfare with neighboring tribes providing a steady supply of them. For safety reasons, it was mostly women and children who were kept as slaves though, the men being deemed too unpredictable to keep around. Those were usually killed during battle or sold off to traders, who would then take them to faraway lands where their will to fight and resist captivity would be broken by the whip, never to be heard from again. Duro’s _gift_ had gone against those unspoken norms and had surprised everyone.

The boy was obviously used to being a slave. If he had to venture a guess, Agron would say he had never been anything else, as he had kept his eyes respectfully down as the family had discussed what to do with him. He had struggled to learn his new duties quickly and had slowly but surely begun to adapt to a different reality. He was a quick learner though, and soon had become a valuable asset in their small household. His mother had marveled at his efforts and hard work, his father quietly complimenting his minute knowledge of warfare and weaponry used by people they deemed enemies. His sisters were fascinated by him and even Duro was distinctively partial to him.

It was only the shadows lurking in his dark eyes that spoke of the uncertainty of exchanging one master for another that made Agron keep a close eye on him.

He shifted slightly, pulling the cloak tighter around himself. Summer was coming to an end and the biting cold was beginning to make its presence known during the night time. Soon, they would have to plan one more hunting trip, to ensure their provisions would last during the long months of winter and see them well fed until spring’s return.

He took another long look across the winding path leading up the hill. He was ready to pound his brother over the head if he didn’t get here soon.

He knew Duro’s intent on bringing Nasir to him. Hell, he knew the entire fucking village was probably spewing tales about how his nights were now infinitely warmer with the new slave in his bed. He knew _for a fact_ there were more than a couple of warriors who would be more than willing to make good trades for a chance at experiencing the little Syrian for themselves. And, if he was truly honest with himself, he couldn’t deny he had thought about it.

He shook his head forcefully, beginning to tick off in his head the names of those that would be fit to join the last hunting trip of the season, trying to keep his mind from drifting. And, at last, he spotted Duro’s dreadlocked head coming up the path. He stood up, stretching his tired body and began the slow descent down the path that would take him home, and to some much needed rest.

The house was eerily silent as he walked in, signaling his mother and sisters’ departure to the neighboring fields, where the women were busy harvesting the final crops. He shed his cloak, soaked through with the night’s dew, and approached the roaring fire, trying to instill some warmth into his tired limbs. He startled visibly as he heard a voice from the door.

“You are back.”

Agron didn’t bother to turn, choosing instead to merely nod his head in silent agreement.

“Your mother left me with strict instructions to feed you as soon as you walked through the door. She said you’d be starving.”

Agron turned slightly to look at the young man as he walked to the cooking area and began moving through it with a familiarity that surprised him. He stopped suddenly and turned towards Agron, who quickly turned his gaze back to the fire. He didn’t want the boy to think that he was staring.

“What would you like to eat master?”

“Don’t call me that!” He snapped, feeling an awkward clenching in his chest as the boy visibly flinched. He sighed heavily, waiting for the boy to say something. Nasir had, however, returned to his previous submissive posture, keeping his gaze firmly on the ground, muscles tensed as though he waited for some kind of punishment.

“Call me by my name. Everyone else does.” He gave him a tentative smile when he saw the boy glance up at him. “And I’ll eat whatever you have. My mother was right, I am starving.”

Nasir gave a quick nod and resumed his meddling in the cooking area. Agron sat down, keeping his gaze averted. He didn’t like the way he reacted to the young man and thought to himself about the number of lonely nights that had passed since he had last lain with someone. Perhaps it was time to take care of that. Perhaps, like Duro had suggested one night, during one of his drunken diatribes, it would improve his humor.

Soon, the smell of something delicious filled the hut and Agron found himself face to face with something very strange looking on his plate. Nasir’s shy demeanor changed somewhat when Agron lifted an eyebrow, a puzzled look on his face.

“Try it. The taste far makes up for the appearance.”

Still unconvinced, Agron looked straight at him with mock seriousness. “If I die of this, know that my ghost will haunt you for as long as you shall live, if only for the affront of having a warrior die of food poisoning.”

The lightness of his tone evoked the expected answer, as Nasir smiled warmly at him. Without a word, he waved his hand gently towards the plate of steaming food, encouraging him to try.

The first bite had Agron furrowing his brow, trying to identify the flavors. He was used to strong, tasty food and the delicate flavors on the plate left him confused. The second bite had him chewing thoughtfully and, as the third bite was finally swallowed, he had to concede defeat. He gave a playful half-bow to the slave in front of him.

“You win little man. It is, in fact, delicious, even if it looks as something that might have passed through the insides of an animal.”

Nasir’s laugh was genuine and clear, and it lifted some of the uncertainty that seemed to always be present between them.

“Clear doubt from mind though. My brother brought you from the Gauls. Do not tell me they eat delicacies such as this. Where does knowledge come from?” Agron regretted the words as soon as he uttered them, as Nasir’s smile faded and the young man looked back towards the safety of the flames before replying.

“I learned it when in the home of my Roman Dominus.”

The sadness in Nasir’s voice made Agron consider dropping the subject and trying something different, but the boy resumed his tale, after a moment.

“When he came to Gallia, he brought me with him.” He turned back to face Agron and there was a hint of pride in his voice. “I was his body slave, the one he trusted above all. He could not entertain such a journey without me at his side, to take care of his every need.”

He paused again and seemed lost in his memories. Agron kept his silence. There were questions he wanted to ask, but he remained quiet, allowing the young man to order his thoughts before continuing.

“As soon as we got there he realized it would not be the easy task he had imagined. Several tribes were at war with each other and our troops were caught in the middle. There was a fierce battle one day and my Dominus was wounded. He would have been killed except…” His voice wavered somewhat, and Agron wandered about the meaning of such. “Except he was saved from certain death by another man. One of the Gauls.” He spat the word out, filled with venom, as if he was tasting something foul.

“After Dominus was taken to camp and nursed back to health, he wanted to thank the man who had saved his life. He offered to give him whatever he desired. He chose me.”

Agron stared at the young Syrian in utter silence. From the words spoken, and the tone in which they had been uttered, he could make a decent guess at what Nasir’s life had been like, once he had been stripped bare of the comforts to which he was used to, and began life as a slave to a fucking Gaul.

Nasir smiled tentatively back at him, trying to lift up the somber mood. “I learned most of my skills within the house of my Roman Dominus. The Gauls, well they have no taste for the finer things in life… unlike you.” He nodded his head towards the empty plate with a smirk, before picking it up and heading back towards the cooking area. “Would you like some more… Agron?”

Agron lifted himself up and stretched for a long moment. Belly full and warmed up body, all he felt the need for at the moment was rest. “Gratitude but I decline. I am in much need of some rest.” He felt, more than saw, the boy’s dark eyes follow his graceful movements across the small hut, pulling out his sleeping roll.

“Rest then. Your mother left instructions for me to go to the market as well. I’ll be out of your way in but a moment.”

Agron frowned slightly at that. He didn’t particularly like the idea of Nasir wandering about on his own, but his mind failed to come up with a decent reason to object, and by the time Nasir closed the door, he was already asleep.

The following days came and went and Agron found himself slowly but steadily growing closer to the young slave. He was still uncertain as though whether or not to fully bestow his confidence on him – despite the fact that his family obviously had, he found strength in the fact that he wasn’t the only one in the village to feel that way, several other warriors having shared their suspicions that the boy might yet turn on them - but he could not deny that he was enjoying their conversations and time spent together.

The young Syrian had grown accustomed to his constant presence, slowly shedding his shy demeanor and growing more confident around him, sharing stories of his past – mostly of times spent in Rome, as he barely remembered his native Syria and times spent amongst the Gauls seemed to be a far from pleasurable memory. Agron regaled him with tales from the village, stories about times long past, when the gods roamed the earth to play amongst mortals. The stories Nasir seemed to favor the most though, where the ones about Agron’s childhood and all the troubles he seemed prone to getting himself into.

Agron discovered an odd sense of peace to be found in Nasir’s small smiles and quiet laughter, and pointedly ignored Duro’s knowing smirks whenever his brother found them together.

Autumn’s equinox was approaching fast, and soon preparations for the last hunting trip of the season were in full swing. Those who served the gods busied themselves in intricate rituals, interpreting omens set to determine the favor of the gods for the upcoming endeavor. As the appropriate time was determined, men were chosen to participate in the hunting as women busied themselves preparing the feast that would send them on their way.

The night of the equinox was marked by a traditional celebration. The entire village had gathered round in a circle at the village’s center, with the council of elders standing amongst them. Agron watched with a slight sense of pride as his father raised a hand and soon, the murmuring died down, leaving the village immersed in an eerie silence.

“Kinsmen! Tonight we celebrate another turn of the wheel that dictates our lives. Soon, winter shall be upon us once more.” The leader took a pause, allowing his gaze to roam upon the faces around him. “Tomorrow, and with the gods’ blessings, the best of our men will be parting from us, to ensure our survival through the harsh months that lay ahead.” He paused again, letting the gravity of the statement fully sink in, before allowing his face to break into a broad smile. “But tonight, we celebrate!”

The crowd erupted into cheers and soon people were milling about, gathering food and drink. Drums began playing and voices rose, as more and more wine was consumed. Agron smiled as he felt Duro coming to stand next to him, his hand clasping Agron’s shoulder, as he nodded his head towards the members of the council.

“They look as full of themselves as the boar mother stuffs during celebrations, do they not?”

Agron repressed a smile and looked at his brother in mock dismay. “Do not let father hear you speak in such terms or he will have your skin for that.”

Duro seemed unfazed as he merely shrugged his shoulders. “That is why I voice opinion to loving brother, who will always look out for me… and my skin.” He winked and Agron laughed soundly at his brother’s impudence. “Now, I am going to look for more appealing company. And I advise you to do the same.” Agron pretended not to understand his brother’s meaning as Duro walked unsteadily away.

Finding himself alone, Agron’s eyes roamed through the crowd until landing on the form of Nasir. The young Syrian was alone as well, quietly leaning against a pole, watching the celebrations. He seemed startled as Agron raised a cup of wine towards him, an indication of how far away his mind had taken him. Slowly, he reached for the cup before speaking.

“Gratitude.” He hesitated before lifting the cup to his lips. “Are you certain this is allowed?”

Agron considered his question for a moment. “A slave partaking in these celebrations? No, I am not.” He looked around his kinsmen before settling his attention back on the younger man. “This is an unusual situation for all of us. I am sure even the council would not have a clear answer to give you.” He smiled reassuringly and was rewarded with a tiny smile from Nasir. “So we might as well make the best of it.”

From the distance, he could see Duro making approving gestures towards them.

Even though celebrations lasted well into the night, the following morning found the entire village once again gathered at its center. The purpose though, was now much different. The dwindling fires had been revived, creating small pools of light in the misty light of morning. Those who served the gods formed a circle in the middle of the crowd, silently looking upwards, their eyes squinting in the early morning light as they searched the skies for a sign of the gods.

Two sparrows flew across the circle. After a few moments, a crow broke the silence with its cries. Soon after, there was a rustle of leaves in the nearby forest as a multitude of birds swam across the skies. In the distance, the cry of an eagle searching for its morning meal seemed to break the spell. Raising a small wooden pole in each of their hands, the servers of the gods looked back into the flames.

“It is a good omen. The gods agree with us.”

A collective sigh could be heard from the crowd as each of them turned to say their goodbyes to their loved ones soon leaving. Without further notice, Agron found himself amidst his mother’s arms in loving embrace, softly spoken words of caution being whispered in his ears.

As soon as he could release himself, he walked towards the house, to collect whatever belongings his mother and sisters had seen fit to pack for him. He entered the dark household, waiting a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, before locating his bag.

Next to it stood Nasir.

“So you are leaving?” His voice was quiet, not really a question but a mere statement, something to break the oppressing silence. “The signs were good?”

Agron nodded his head without breaking eye contact. “They were. We leave in a moment’s notice.”

Nasir nodded as well, before picking up Agron’s weapons and presenting them to him. “Your father gave words that they were to be cleaned and ready for you to use. I hope this is acceptable. I used a special concoction.”

Agron took a step in his direction and was hit by a foul smell, causing him to stop and wrinkle his nose in disgust. “Fuck the gods, what is that?”

Nasir smiled softly. “Something I learned from the Gauls. The smell is entirely their responsibility.” He chuckled softly at Agron’s horrified look. “It does a splendid job at cleaning weapons though. It prevents the blood and grime from destroying a blade’s edge.”

Agron nodded, taking the bag and weapons from him. He hesitated for a moment before raising a calloused hand and gently cupping the younger man’s cheek. “Take care of them for me.”

Nasir nodded slowly and kept his ground as Agron turned and walked back outside, to say the rest of his goodbyes.

The first few days of the hunting trip were spent mostly covering ground. Even though the woods around the village were plentiful, their people’s needs were far too great to rely only on what they could find close by. Finally, by the fourth day, they set up camp. It was comprised only of a few scattered tents and some dug out fires to keep most of the cold at bay, sturdy but easy enough to lift if need arose to change settings.

The men divided into groups, trying to cover the most ground on each outing, and soon they began reaping their rewards. Wild boars and deers, dozens upon dozens of hares, and even the occasional bird were steadily brought in, the smoke from the now roaring fires keeping insects and other animals at bay. It seemed as though the gods had truly blessed them.

Little more than a fortnight had passed when they finally decided they had enough and it was time to head home. The journey back took them considerably longer, but the men were in high spirits, content with the thought that this last hunt had provided them with enough food to last for the long months of winter.

As they reached the outskirts of their land though, they were quick to realize that something was undeniably wrong. The paths leading to the village were unusually worn out, trees bent out of shape and broken. As they reached the first removed households they saw the unmistakable signs of war. Rooftops showed hints of burning and small utensils littered the ground as houses were pillaged and trinkets were left behind. All around, there was no one in sight.

Unceremoniously dropping their heavy cargo to the ground, the men took out their weapons and hurried ahead.

As they approached the village they could hear the familiar sounds of life and soon enough they were spotted. A group of heavily armed men came towards them and Agron recognized his kinsmen, as one of the elder men opened his arms in greeting.

“Welcome back!”

Agron stepped forward and signaled with his hand the destruction they had just witnessed. “What happened here?”

The men all looked forlorn. “We were attacked.” The one who had spoken spat on the floor, showing his distaste on the matter. “Children mostly, only a few worthy warriors amongst them. Looking to destroy mostly, and have some fun with our women. They caused some damage before we were able to subdue them.”

Agron instinctively turned his head and looked behind them, searching the small gathering crowd for the faces of his family. Seeing none, he quickly turned and began walking steadily towards his household, fear gripping his heart. A hand held on to his shoulder, forcing him to stop and turn back with a growl.

The man lifted his hands in a reassuring gesture. “Your family is safe. No harm has befallen them. Your slave did well.”

“Nasir?” He was certain the puzzled look on his face must have been worthy of at least a chuckle, yet none came forth, betraying the seriousness of the situation.

“One of the men grabbed your younger sister and dragged her to the woods. The boy saw it and rushed towards them with… “He shared a look with the other men, and this time the mirth was there. “I believe it was one of your mother’s butching knives.” There were chuckles then and Agron narrowed his eyes dangerously. “He stabbed him a number of times, until there was not a breath left in him. He saved her.” Agron kept his face neutral as he allowed the words to sink in.

“He did more than his part to help us protect the village. He’s one of us now.” He could see the approving nods being shared by all men.

Agron nodded, for once fully agreeing with them. Nasir had proven his worth, on more than one situation, but even more so now, when he had risked his life to protect those around him. Those who had kept him enslaved. Having had his share of the conversation, and still with a worried heart for his family, he finally turned around and began heading for the house.


End file.
